


Rules

by themantlingdark



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-13 19:00:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16898163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themantlingdark/pseuds/themantlingdark
Summary: This fic was inspired by a snippet of dialogue from Terrence Malick's "The Thin Red Line":“Well, isn't that what you like to do? Turn left when they say go right? Why are you such a troublemaker, Witt?”Written in a 24 hour span, because I was supposed to be writing something else.





	Rules

He fell in love.

That's all it was.

Something so simple.

It never occurred to him that it could be wrong. To love someone so perfectly and completely.

How could his heart's desire do any harm?

In his opinion it was the only thing he'd ever really done right.

Still is.

But then he found out it was, officially, wrong.

That there are limits.

Rules.

About who you're meant to love and how much you may love them.

That there's a map of love, and it has many borders.

That brother and lover are not countrymen.

So Loki gave up on rules.

Because if he obeyed one then it would be an admission of acceptance. A validation. He'd have to take the rest, too. And he could never abide this law. His heart could not be wrong.

So stop became go.

Yes became no.

Don't became do.

Over became through.

Fall was fly.

Truth was lie.

And live was die.

But he didn't die.

We all make mistakes, he supposed.

He learned that they were allowed to be enemies.

That they could hurt each other.

Spill blood.

And no one would really be too shocked or offended by that. That that's what everyone was expecting all along: envy and rivalry.

For centuries they couldn't have been more wrong.

But, when Thor met that woman on Midgard, what was wrong became right.

Loki was hurt and jealous to the point of madness.

And Loki grew to hate his love.

All his wants and dreams - sweet innocent things - we're warped by the realms.

Given nasty names.

Sneered at.

Punished.

Until the very act of wanting them became a punishment. 

They tormented him until the sight of Thor's fair face was like looking at the sun.

*********

Asgard wants him gone, so Loki makes himself at home.

I won the bloody war. I'll do whatever I damn well please, he tells himself – and several of his citizens.

And he is safe here, which is more than can be said for the rest of the realms or any of the spaces in between.

Thor doesn't want him dead. Any in Asgard who brought harm to Loki would face the wrath of a god. The Aesir aren't stupid.

And Loki is tired. No sleep or medicine can mend it.

He keeps to himself. He can't stomach company.

Thor isn't an idiot.

He knows.

He's known for a long time.

And he knows about rules, too.

He figured it out when he went to his first ball.

A princess his age from Alfheim was there. She kept him laughing all through the evening, making witty observations and good-natured jokes about herself and Thor and the other guests and the events of the evening. And it was so familiar to Thor that it endeared her to him quickly. Because this was how Loki spoke to him all the time.

And, when the evening ended, she leaned in and kissed Thor sweetly on the mouth.

And then Thor understood.

Loki had been courting him. All day, every day, for centuries.

Loki hadn't spoken to Thor at all that night, though Thor saw him at the ball, standing alone by a window.

Loki didn't speak to him for weeks afterward, either - avoided him, in fact – but Thor gradually wore down Loki's will. Begged and pleaded. And Loki hadn't yet found the fortitude to say no to Thor, so he slowly slid back into his old habits. And Thor never let on that he understood them. And he never told a soul how much he had missed them.

And he knew it was unfair to let Loki pine for him. But it made Thor feel rich. The secret filled him with a strange warmth. Loki was beautiful and cold and brilliant and pure. And he was Thor's.

And when Thor took up Mjolnir, there was a familiarity there, too: here was another piece of impossible magic that seemed to exist just for him.

And Thor was every bit as much in love with Loki.

It was the one thing Thor knew that Loki didn't know.

Thor liked owning that knowledge. Guarding it.

And Thor liked to want.

Loved to lust.

Lived for longing.

The ache was sweet and melancholy and Thor reveled in sensations that were not ordinarily a part of his existence.

And then so many centuries passed in this way that it seemed too late - surely Loki would only be angry if Thor were to confess it now. Furious at having been made to wait. Left in the dark.

Odin didn't know how right he was: Thor is a vain, greedy, cruel boy.

And Thor knows that that whole mess was more than half of his making. That if it weren't for his blatant and predictable arrogance, bellicosity, and pride, he might know what Odin's plan for Loki had been. Now it's too late to ask.

Though it's possible the answer would have been another lie.

Thor has slowly come to accept that.

When Frigga would bathe the boys or take them swimming as tiny children, they would stare at each other's bodies.

They were different.

The boys asked their mother why.

“You are two different people,” she said.

Not a lie.

But not very specific, or so it seemed at the time.

Unsatisfied, they pestered their father.

Odin said it was seidr. That Loki was a shapeshifter, and that was true. He could already turn his form into anything of his choosing. Odin suggested he was copying Thor's body and Frigga's body at the same time.

Even Loki accepted that answer.

When he got older, he opted to copy only Thor's form, noting no other boy on Asgard had a body quite like his.

They've been back from the war for three months.

Loki sees no one. He keeps himself warded from sight when he's not in his rooms and sneaks out every day to set the realm to rights, piece by piece. He mends broken walls. Heals wounded beasts. Smooths roads.

He's lying in bed resting after a day spent clearing a river that had been dammed with rubble when Thor lets himself into the room.

“You insult Mother when you forget your manners, Thor. She taught you better than that.”

Thor sits on the edge of the bed.

“You didn't knock, I didn't invite you into the room, and I certainly didn't ask you into my bed.”

“I thought it went without saying,” Thor teases. “And, anyway, Asgard is mine.”

Loki's face drains of color and then flushes red with fury through the course of Thor's sentence.

“Oh, I see,” Loki spits. “Is that why you're here? Have you some chore for me to do? To earn my keep? What does my landlord-kingcommand.”

“Nothing,” Thor groans, exasperated. “I merely wished to see you.”

“You've seen me. Now go.”

“I'll not be ordered about within my own walls.”

“Very well,” Loki says, and scatters into a flock of starlings to spill out the window into the night.

Thor swears and falls back on the bed with a sigh.

In the morning he looks, but sees no sign of his brother. Hlidskjalf shows him nothing. Huginn and Muninn can find no trace of him.

Years pass.

A decade.

And Thor is no closer to finding his brother.

Heimdall can only tell him where Loki may have been. He sees the landscape change – dead trees that have been felled, roads and paths cleared, monuments repaired  - but he can't say with certainty that Loki was responsible, as he never saw the deeds being done.

When Thor visits the sites Heimdall mentions, the trail is always cold, sometimes by whole years.

At a loss, Thor wanders to the statue beside his mother's stone ship, intending to beg her marble likeness to tell him where his brother is, though he knows the task is hopeless. It comforts him to speak to her as though she is still here.

At the sculpture's feet there are flowers. Asphodel. They only grow at the base of a mountain that faces the sea on Asgard's Eastern edge.

In the morning Thor flies there with Mjolnir.

He follows a stream until he comes to a clearing.

He and Loki used to camp here as very young men. They'd say they were going hunting, but they'd just laze about reading and swimming, or munching dried fruit and nuts and watching the birds.

Thor can see no evidence of his brother having been here, but he knows better than to trust his eyes when it comes to Loki.

He walks to the trees between which they always used to set their tent. The trunks are so much wider now. They were nearly saplings in those days, and it takes Thor a moment of study to be sure he has the right ones.

He approaches the empty space between them with his hands spread out before him and when he gets close his palms connect with the thick cotton and oilskin of the tent.

Thor hears a sigh from somewhere behind him and then the camp shimmers into view.

When Thor turns he sees Loki sitting on a stump.

“Will you have this roof, too?” Loki asks. “That you may order me about beneath it?”

Thor frowns slightly at the reminder of his last words to his brother and walks over to sit beside him.

“What may I call mine?” Loki continues. “Shall I move to Saturn's moons? There's one called Thrymr. Do I belong there with the king of giants? There's another called Ymir. And a Farbauti, too. Which of my kin may house me? Or do they fall under your purview now, too? They're rather close to Midgard. Surely that won't do.”

Thor stares at his brother. His cheeks feel hot, but he keeps his mouth in a tight line to remind himself not to speak. He has no wish to drive Loki away again – he worries he wouldn't be able to find him.

“Perhaps I could return to Jotunheim. That is mine, surely. I'm its king. What do you suppose they'd say when they saw me? How long do you wager I would last? I'd give them a good fight. Make myself worthy sport. At least my bones could go back home-”

“This is your home, damn you. You stop this. You leave these woods and this spectral existence and you come home,” Thor says, mouth rushing around the words as he turns to grab his brother's shoulders.

“Take your hands off me,” Loki says.

“No,” Thor sighs. “You'll just do something stupid.”

And Loki laughs at that. He has to. Because it's true.

He would run again. He can't think of anything better to do. He can think of worse, but he's had his fill of that.

His life has been one long impasse. He can't imagine his future. He has gone a long way down a dark road without ever knowing what, exactly, waits at the end of it. To turn back now feels like defeat after so long traveling. And, even then, you can never really go back. Time is a river. It only flows out to the sea. He can't be who he was. Life is an additive process. He could be righteous until the end of his days and it would never wash his sins away. Wounds heal, but scars are lasting. Not even your friends will forget your failures... not that Loki has any friends.

What he said on Midgard was true; there are no men like him. Nor women, gods, or giants. So he's clinging to the edge of the realm that raised him. Not male or female, not son or father, not old or young, not good or bad.

This world is the closest to a fit he'll ever find. He's seen more than enough to know that much.

“Brother,” Thor murmurs, cupping Loki's neck, and Loki flinches. “Why do you hate that word?” Thor whispers.

“I don't,” Loki says, and his eyes are far away, looking out at the ocean and the stars that can just barely be seen through the haze of the sky. “Or I didn't. I was made to hate it. I hate what it cost me.”

“Am I not your brother?”

“We share the same mother,” Loki sighs, and Thor knows that's as close to a yes as he's likely to get today, so he doesn't press it.

“Come back to your room,” Thor tries.

“Your room, remember?”

“Yours. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I'm a fool still. I'll not trouble you there.”

Thor has always found it difficult to do without Loki's attention, but he's willing to suffer the lack if his brother will just come back home. He'll keep his distance if it means he can hear familiar footsteps in the halls again.

“Is not this better?” Loki says. “Safer? I've not been a bother.”

“You've driven me mad every day for over a decade,” Thor gasps, bewildered.

“But no one else complained,” Loki says, and there's no hint of a question in his tone.

He knows he isn't missed.

“That's their mistake,” Thor says.

“Is it a mistake?”

“Aye,” Thor answers.

Loki hums.

Thor releases his brother and folds his hands in his lap.

Loki looks healthy, at least, and Thor takes comfort in that. He's wearing very old silks, but his seidr stretches their lifespan. Loki's boots and leggings are of his own making - buckskin, soft and silent.

There are words Thor wants to say but there is no slow way to speak them. No way to break the truth to Loki gently in this tongue. Thor will have to use other languages.

And patience.

His brother looks like a bird, perched on the edge of his seat, slim limbs poised for flight, eyes seeking escape in the sky.

Can you tame a thing without making it less wild? Thor wonders, and supposes he'll have to find out.

“I never thanked you,” Thor says.

“For what?”

“My banishment.”

“The Norns paid me back for it,” Loki huffs, and Thor smiles tightly.

The Norns gave his brother more than his share. He would like to return the difference to them.

Thor stands and bends quickly to kiss the top of his brother's head, then follows Mjolnir into the air and back to the palace.

Loki wards his camp from sight once more and sets out to mend a grouse that had a close call with a hawk.

A few weeks after Thor's visit, Loki wakes to a familiar scent.

Speculaas.

A gift left for the gods.

But no one knows I'm here, Loki thinks, and then realizes it was Thor.

The cookies are folded up in linen and resting on the stump.

Loki laughs when he unwraps them. There's a pattern stamped on the treats: the runes from Mjolnir's head, all backward now.

Thor went to the kitchens with that bloody hammer on his hip and baked me sweets, Loki marvels. If the Aesir only knew what an odd creature their king is.

A month after that it's a basket of raspberries and cup of fresh cream.

Two weeks later it's a cherry tart that only lasts ten minutes, and Thor knew he was laying a trap when he left it: they were always Loki's favorite.

Loki leaves his wards on that evening and sneaks into the kitchens to help himself to the tarts cooling on racks.

He takes them back up to his room.

There are bottles of mead on his table, in a neat line, coated with descending layers of dust. One for every year Loki has been away. There are little notes beside each of them in Thor's sturdy hand, telling him what they all taste like and what happened the year they were bottled. Thor knows the history of Asgard's weather better than anyone could ever wish to. The vintners find him very useful.

Thor is still slightly surprised when he hears a soft knock on his door. He knew Loki would come for the tarts, but he wasn't certain his brother would linger. Thor had merely intended to ask the baker how many desserts had managed to wander off overnight without any legs.

Thor opens his door and sees his brother's face, faintly rosy from the wine. He's drinking it from the bottle and his fingers and lips are stained with cherries.

“Come in,” Thor says, and Loki's eyes quickly search the room to see if it's safe before he steps over the threshold.

“Thank you for the gifts. The tarts in particular. I had forgotten about them,” Loki says, standing tall and still with his red mouth, flushed cheeks, and dilated eyes.

And it makes Thor sad. That Loki had forgotten a thing he loved. Forgotten the simplest of pleasures. Perhaps there's something to be said for his asceticism, but somehow it only makes Thor think of starvation. As though Loki's soul has gone hungry so long it can no longer recall what sustained it.

“Blueberries are next,” Thor says, and Loki nods.

“Some grow in the woods North of me.”

“You look tired. You should sleep in a proper bed.”

“I've a barn swallow hatchling in my tent to look after.”

“Perhaps after it's fledged,” Thor says.

“Perhaps,” Loki nods, and makes his way to the window.

Thor follows. Loki drains his mead and hands the empty bottle to his brother before stepping up onto the heavy stone railing and tipping off into the air to fly home in the shape of a falcon.

Thor brings Loki blueberry pie anyway.

And then thick pelts for him to sleep on and under.

Pots of butter.

Bread so fresh it's still steaming when Loki tears it open.

Dried fruits and candied nuts.

A bushel of apples, some of which are Idunn's. Loki can distinguish them both by their color and by the speckles of blood that dot their skin, spilled when the goddess punished Thor for his theft.

Autumn comes and with it the first frost.

Loki has always loved how it sets the realm sparkling.

He hears footsteps crunching in the grass behind him and turns to find his brother walking toward him with a quilt draped over his arm. He can see Thor's breath.

Loki removes his wards and Thor hands over the blanket. Loki goes to set it on his bed.

“May I come in?” Thor asks, from the flap of the tent.

“If you like,” Loki says, and Thor ducks under the little doorway and sits on the ground.

“Are you warm enough?” Thor asks.

“I've lived here ten years,” Loki points out.

“That's not a yes.”

“I'm Jotun. If I'm cold I shift my skin.”

Thor nods.

Loki sees needless worry writ across his brother's features.

“What do you do all winter?” Thor asks.

“I sleep rather a lot,” Loki shrugs.

Thor rises and steps back outside. Loki follows, and as soon as he has straightened Thor slips his arms around him. Loki goes rigid, but Thor ignores it. Loki hasn't had affection since he fell, and Thor doesn't want him to forget about this the way he forgot the cherry tarts. He tucks his nose behind Loki's ear and rubs his back until he feels his brother relax. Loki's arms hang at his sides but he lets his head sag onto Thor's shoulder, and Thor counts that as a victory. They stay this way so long their breathing slows and their eyelids sag. They start from their reverie when a chickadee lands on them only to be startled off when they can't stifle their laughter.

Loki steps back inside to grab a jar filled with seeds and sprinkles some onto the stump to apologize for laughing at the bird. The chatty little creature seems appeased and eats them greedily.

“Roasted capons and acorn squash with butter and honey,” Thor says. “Come for supper some evening.”

Loki nods.

Thor squeezes his arm and pecks his cheek before flying back to Hlidskjalf.

When the snow has fallen and the realm is asleep, Loki thinks of his brother's invitation.

He goes on a Thursday. Wednesday was Odin's. Friday was Frigga's. Loki never had a day of his own.

He knocks on Thor's door when the sun is just sinking behind the trees.

Thor is surprised, but smiling.

“Shall we eat in here?” Thor asks, and Loki nods.

When the page brings their supper, Loki wards himself from sight until the lad is gone.

When Loki sees the platter, he is pleased with his brother: Thor didn't let on that he had a guest. He ordered enough food for two, but not so much that he couldn't easily eat it all himself. He didn't ask for extra plates or cutlery. No one will know Loki was here, and he's grateful for the privacy.

Thor asks what Loki has been up to and learns that the chickadee returns every morning now to shout until Loki silences him with some edible offering. Thor remembers the same species would steal the crumbs of their breakfast when they camped there centuries ago, always more brazen than the other birds.

Loki eats slowly, enjoying the tastes and textures.

Thor watches color spread across Loki's features as the wine hits his blood and wonders if the drink still makes his brother blush in Jotun form. He hopes so.

“Have you slept in your room at all?” Thor asks.

“Not yet. I will tonight.”

There's a pumpkin custard for dessert that makes Loki grin, dissolving on his tongue after it slides past his lips. When they're finished they stand on Thor's balcony, passing a bottle of wine back and forth. Once it's empty, Loki leaps across the gap and onto his own balcony, not wanting to walk down the hall and risk a page or a guard seeing his door open.

The bed is dusty. Loki forbade all but his family from entering his room, not wanting anyone else to interfere with the elaborate seidr he was often working. He did his housekeeping himself. It seems Thor hasn't lifted the ban to let the servants in. Loki smiles.

He goes back out to his balcony and is climbing up to fly away when he hears his brother's voice.

“I thought you were going to sleep in your bed,” Thor says.

“Dusty. And I'm not in a mood to clean it.”

Thor snorts and tosses his head.

“Come on. Mine's big enough. Your chickadee won't wake you here.”

Loki hesitates a moment before leaping back to Thor's balcony and hopping to the floor.

Thor is snuffing out torches so Loki turns down the bed. The linens smell fresh. Like lavender. And Thor's skin.

Loki sets his clothes on a chair and crawls across the mattress, settling with a sigh.

“What have you done all these years?” Loki asks, as Thor sheds his clothes and climbs in beside him.

“Wonderfully little,” Thor says. “The realms have been quiet. In the wake of the war there were petty disputes over land and valuables. That surprised me. That property would be at the forefront of anyone's mind after all that.”

“They were looking to the future,” Loki murmurs. “There could be some wisdom there.”

Thor hums.

“What else did I miss?” Loki says, and Thor rolls to face him.

“This,” Thor whispers, and threads his fingers through the hair at Loki's left temple.

It's cool and silky and each brush of Thor's hand sends the scent of Loki's tresses into the air.

“Thor.”

“Hmm?”

But Loki never says anything else. Thor keeps combing his brother's hair with his fingertips until Loki's eyelids start to droop and then he nudges Loki onto his left side so he can curl up behind him and do the right half of Loki's scalp. He follows the hair down onto the back of Loki's neck and kneads the knots he finds there. Then he does the right shoulder and arm, rolling the fine bones of the wrist and rubbing the tendons underneath. And Loki turns over to let Thor do his left side without being asked.

When Thor leans in to brush their lips together Loki opens his eyes, but voices no objection. He merely tilts his head and nips at Thor's lower lip. Thor licks his way past Loki's teeth and pulls a silver tongue into his mouth, sucking it gently and tasting wine. He can feel Loki's breath against his lips, warm and quick.

And then both of his arms are around Loki's neck and his thigh is over Loki's hip, and he doesn't remember when or how they got there, but he's pleased that they did. Loki's right hand is on Thor's throat, and Thor likes the edge to the touch – at once possessive, threatening, and needy. Loki's left hand is stroking Thor's right flank, dropping sometimes to grip his hip when Thor sucks on Loki's slender neck.

When Thor bites the bend of Loki's jaw, they both moan and Loki grabs Thor by the shoulder and leg and tosses him onto his back. And Loki is above him faster than a shadow.

“Yes or no?” Loki whispers, and Thor isn't certain what Loki's asking, but it doesn't matter; the answer would be the same.

“Yes.”

And Loki reaches to slide Thor's foreskin back.

And then Thor feels the unmistakable warmth, pressure, and wetness of a cunt gliding over his cock as Loki sinks down onto him.

Thor gapes on the mattress for a moment as Loki settles above him, pressing their breasts together and trapping his own prick between their bellies.

Thor's hands come up to stroke Loki's back and grip his behind, feeling the muscles flex as Loki drives himself down onto Thor's cock, pulling little grunts and moans from both of them.

They're too frantic to kiss. Loki has his face buried in Thor's neck and Thor is listening to the sounds their skin is making. He won't even risk drawing breath for fear of missing one of Loki's tiny sighs.

And Loki is swinging his hips in a way that Thor knows would look wonderful if his toes had eyes. He's grinding his cock against Thor's stomach as he moves up and filling himself with Thor's prick when he slams down. The former yields a breathy oh, and the latter and guttural uhn.

But when Loki spends, he cries brother, and Thor can finally breathe.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I can't disable commenting here. If I could, I would. Please pretend that I have.


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